Bear waited for the “but.”
“When did you want to make this thing?”
“I want to shoot it this year and edit over the summer.”
Christian whistled into the phone. “That’s aggressive.”
“So am I.”
“Well…” Christian cleared his throat. “You’ll have to send me something, like, yesterday if you want me to take this to the board.”
“I’ll do that,” Bear promised.
“Before the end of the week, okay?”
“No problem,” Bear said. Even if it meant he wouldn’t sleep the next three nights.
He said his goodbyes and shoved the phone in his pocket. Damn. He took a moment to just stand there grinning. He should have made that call three weeks ago, immediately after he got the idea. It had been foolish to wait. But after Hank had shot down the idea, Bear hadn’t felt ready to try to sell it to anyone else.
Maybe, just maybe, this would break his way.
Tucking his phone away, Bear braced himself for the evening’s next tricky conversation. When he pushed open the door to Travis Rupert’s bar and grill, Stella was the first person he spotted. She was busy washing glasses behind the bar. As she worked, Bear couldn’t help but notice how the clingy black top she wore exposed a whole lot of cleavage. He averted his eyes, wondering if her other customers would be as gentlemanly. They’d better be.
Damn. He’d better get over any proprietary feelings he had over those. Over her, he meant. God. He felt like slapping himself.
Bear took a stool at the end of the bar. Stella didn’t make eye contact with him, but still, he was certain she’d clocked him the moment he came in the door. If she wanted to make him wait, he guessed there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
“Excuse me!” someone piped up from a few seats down the bar. Bear turned his head to see the speaker was a frat boy wearing a polo shirt and a big frown. “I asked for a Bud Light and a Coors. You brought us a Coors Light and a Bud.”
“But I wrote down…” Stella pulled a pad from her apron and squinted at it. She flinched. “Oh. Sorry. Give me one second.” Stella turned her back on him to grab a couple of glasses off the overhead racks.
The grumpy customer elbowed his buddy and then shook his head, saying something under his breath that Bear could not hear. The other guy chuckled in a way that Bear did not like.
“Hey,” Bear said to them before stopping to think it through. “You got a problem?”
“No.” The kid’s tone was belligerent. “Do you?”
Stella finally looked at him, one eyebrow raised. She put two fresh beers down in front of the frat boys. Then she slid down to stand in front of him.
“Hi,” he tried, hoping she’d be friendly.
“Hi,” she repeated. “Can I get you a beer? Otherwise…” she drummed her fingers on the bar.
“I’d like a Switchback, please,” he said, watching as she bit her lip.
“Coming right up,” Stella sighed.
She turned away to get his beer, delivering it a minute later without a word. Bear drank it slowly. His budget didn’t allow for lingering at the bar. He’d called his Park City realtor this morning, hoping for good news. “We’ll snag a buyer come winter,” the realtor said. Meanwhile, he wrote checks once a month to cover the taxes, the maintenance fees and the electricity. If he took that job in Colorado, none of that would even be a hardship.
And yet…
Bear watched Stella work. She wasn’t the best waitress, and he had to bite back a smile when she spilled a beer onto the bar. Eventually, the rush of customers slowed, leaving Stella to studiously ignore him by scrubbing invisible dirt off the bar.
“Stella,” he said when she wandered past him. “Talk to me.”
She turned to him with a glare. “What about?”
“I’m just wondering why you’re here.”
“I don’t know?” She gave an exaggerated shrug. “To earn a paycheck? Why do you work?
He sighed. “I meant, why did you leave your dad’s foundation?”
“Ah. That’s everyone’s new favorite topic. I should just print up an outline and pass out copies.”
“Look, I’m not trying to bust your balls,” he tried.
Stella threw the rag on the bar. “Good thing, because I don’t own a pair. And you verified that first hand.”
Bear winced. “Look, did you quit because of me? I don’t have to show up there so often…”
Her eyes popped wide. “Vain much?”
“No!” Now he’d really stepped in it. “I just…” Can’t be in the same zip code as you without putting my foot in my mouth.
“Lady, can I get a beer sometime tonight?”
Bear turned his head to verify that the rude customer was the same frat boy from before. “I’m going to kill him.”
“That’s really going to improve my tips.” Stella left to serve the dick who was drinking the cheapest beer Rupert’s served.
Bear put a ten dollar bill on the bar, and shrugged on his jacket. He assumed their conversation was over. But Stella walked back over to face him one more time. “I quit because my parents weren’t getting the message,” she said quietly.
“What message?”
She rolled her eyes. “That they don’t own me. Okay?”
Bear wanted to ask more questions, but something about Stella’s defiant stance stopped him. Her arms were crossed, her hair tossed to the side. But there was a whole lot of frustration burning in those big brown eyes, and a dollop of pain, too. He wished there was something he could do about that. But he knew there wasn’t. They were stuck like this — both frustrated by circumstances, unable to get what they needed.
And unable to have their easy friendship back.
“I’m sorry, buddy,” he said.
“You’ve said that before.”
Christ, he had. “Goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight.”
She was busy pulling another beer for someone before he made it out the door.
Fourteen
THE NEXT NIGHT, RETURNING from another electrical job for his father, Bear clocked Stella’s car behind Rupert’s again. But this time, he kept on driving.
The 4Runner climbed the hill where Hank lived without too much effort. He let himself into Hank’s house in the usual fashion. He didn’t like what he saw. There was a half-filled whiskey bottle on the table. Uh oh. He heard the sound of a toilet flushing from the direction of the master suite, and felt a prickle of unease.
“Hey man!” he called out. “Are you back there?”
Hank rolled into view a minute later. “Hey,” he said as Bear looked him up and down. Sweatpants. No socks. The T-shirt said “Bob’s Sno-Cat Lodge,” this time. Hank transferred to the sofa, hiking his useless legs into place with one arm before looking up at Bear.
His gaze was steady, and Bear felt himself relax. “What’s shakin’?”
Hank lifted an eyebrow to indicate the ridiculousness of the question. Then he spread both heavily-tattooed arms wide. “The usual nada. Why?”
So Hank was ornery, but not wasted. Things could be worse. Bear toed off his shoes and took a seat on the other side of the L-shaped sectional. He propped his feet on the coffee table, nudging the empty glass with his toe.
“The parents were here earlier,” Hank said. “I treated myself to a little nip after they left.”
“Ah. How are the ’rents these days?”
“Exhausting. My mother is all fired up about this new mobility study at the hospital. I’ve had exactly two hours’ worth of the new therapy, and she’s already looking for a progress update. I pity the people in charge.”
Bear chuckled. Hank might be ornery, but he had his mother pegged. Mrs. Lazarus was a tough cookie. “Maybe the doctor running the study needs the scotch worse than you.”
“Have you met her? Callie Anders?” Hank asked.
Bear shook his head. “You mentioned her a couple of times before, though.” He wat
ched Hank carefully.
Sure enough, Hank twisted his head to the side, hiding a smile. “She’s a hottie. It’s one of the only things I don’t hate about the program. She’s easy on the eyes. And I’m going to be there seven hours a week for a year.”
“I can get you out of it,” Bear offered.
“How? Kidnapping?”
“Sort of. Come out west. Make a film with me.”
Hank didn’t meet Bear’s eyes. “I thought about it.”
This was progress. Bear held his breath.
“I heard what you said, okay? That both of us have to figure out something to do now. I heard you loud and clear, and you are not wrong. And I have no fucking clue what my act two looks like. It’s just that I don’t think I can… face that. Not right now.”
“Okay,” Bear whispered. His throat felt thick. He’d needed Hank to hear him out, and consider the movie, and his friend had done it. The answer wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but, hey, a little more bad news wasn’t exactly a surprise, was it? “So can I ask you about something else?” Bear prompted.
“Anything,” Hank said.
“The blue-book value on your 4Runner is about nine thousand dollars. Do you want to sell it to me? I could pay you two grand now, and a couple hundred a month going forward.”
Hank was so indifferent that he could only be bothered to lift one shoulder. “Keep it, man. In case you didn’t notice, I can’t drive it anymore.”
“Dude, I can’t just keep it. It’s not the same as passing me a used snowboard, you know?”
Hank looked him in the eye finally. “You need the money for your movie, right? Consider this my contribution.”
Bear’s pulse jumped in his temple. “I didn’t ask you for money. I’m going to convince OverSight to fund it.”
Hank held up two hands in submission. “That’s cool. And I know you didn’t ask me for money. But you need that truck and I don’t. And even though I didn’t ask them for it, my parents gave me a house worth more than half a million dollars with a roll-in shower and speakers in every room. I’m giving you a rusty truck with a broken speedometer. People do shit for each other sometimes. Someday we’ll be dead, Bear, and arguing about this is wasted breath.”
Bear was uncomfortable again, emotions rolling through his chest he couldn’t express. “I fixed the speedometer,” he said, stupidly.
Hank raised his arms and then dropped them into his lap. “See? She belongs to you already.”
Bear sighed. His conversations with Hank never went in the direction he’d planned. “Look, I’m going to pay you nine grand for the truck, and maybe you should think about giving the money to Stella.”
Hank’s eyebrows shot up. “Why?”
“She needs the money for travel.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Your parents don’t want her competing this year. So they won’t help her.”
Hank scrubbed his forehead. “That’s insane. Why didn’t she tell me?”
Bear did not answer that question. He just folded his arms and waited.
His friend sighed. “Nobody tells me shit anymore.”
“They don’t think they can, man.”
“My ears aren’t broken.”
No, just your attitude. “Stella quit her job, too. Did she tell you that?”
Hank’s chin snapped up. “No, she did not. What the fuck?”
“She’s pouring beers for Travis now, but I think the pay sucks. I think she’s trying to tell your parents that she won’t be bossed.”
At that, Hank threw his head back and laughed. “That’s my girl. You can’t make her do anything.”
Bear smiled, because that was easy to do whenever he thought of Stella. “You should call her. Or just drop by Rupert’s to see her in action.”
Hank grabbed a Nerf football wedged between his body and the armrest and threw it to Bear. “I haven’t been paying enough attention to my sister, have I?”
Bear tossed the ball to Hank without weighing in on the question. It was obvious Hank had not paid enough attention to anyone lately.
Hank tossed the ball back. “I can’t see Stella being very good at waitressing. She can be kind of a klutz when she’s not on a snowboard.”
True. Bear had been watching Stella his whole life. All he had to do was close his eyes and call her up the image of her smooth hands fumbling with the cork on the bubbly she’d poured him that night when they were teenagers. He could visualize her walk, and the way she tossed her hair to get it out of her face.
His lot in life was to admire her from afar. And there was really no way around it.
Hank gave up on the football. He transferred to his wheelchair, rolled into the kitchen and opened the under-counter refrigerator. When he returned, he held two beers. Hank had perfected a method of holding a long neck with the fingers of each hand, while propelling his wheelchair forward with the heels of his hands. It didn’t look comfortable, but Bear had learned months ago not to offer help unless it was blatantly necessary. Hank didn’t want to be babied, and Bear totally got that.
“That’s who you need in your movie,” Hank said.
“Sorry?” Bear took one of the beers.
“Stella. A film could do her a lot of good. I heard her asking that useless agent of hers whether Nike was going to make another snowboarding movie. She needs the visibility.”
“I thought about asking Stella,” Bear said, in a whopping understatement. He’d thought about it plenty. But without Hank involved, it would be so awkward.
“If you don’t ask her, she’ll never speak to you again.” Hank chuckled. “Besides. If you want big mountain shots, who’s better than her?”
“Nobody,” Bear admitted. Hank didn’t seem to have noticed Stella was avoiding him.
Hank took a sip of his beer. “My parents really won’t give her the money? Seriously?”
“Well…” Bear cleared his throat. “I don’t have all the details. I don’t know how hard she pressed her case. I think she hates that she has to ask for help. She hates that she’s twenty-seven and still not earning enough to cover the travel. You made snowboarding pay the bills before you could legally drink. She’s pissed it hasn’t worked like that for her.” It didn’t matter that Stella hadn’t spelled all of that out to him lately. It was his own life story, too. He had that fucker memorized.
Hank traced the lip of his beer bottle with one finger. “It’s not her fault that freeriding doesn’t pay that well.”
“Or that the women never get paid like the men.”
Hank looked up to meet Bear’s eyes, a smirk on his face. “Bear, I never took you for a feminist.”
“Very funny.” Bear took a slug of his beer, paranoid about Hank’s scrutiny. He’d always been tuned into Stella, even before he’d stepped over the line with her.
“You’re right, though.” Hank ran his hand across the overgrown whiskers on his chin. “Poor kid. She must be so frustrated. I’ll go find her tomorrow, and see if there’s anything I can do.”
Bear chuckled in spite of himself. “Just don’t be surprised if she won’t take your help. Trying to talk her into something is like trying to talk you into something. Impossible, really.”
Hank grinned. “We’re just here to give the whole world a hard time.”
Wasn’t that the truth.
Fifteen
OCTOBER SLID INTO NOVEMBER while Bear became even more frustrated by all the things in his life which could not be resolved — big and small.
Hank wasn’t returning his calls, and Bear didn’t know why. He could only hope the new therapy regime taking up more of Hank’s time. And Bear had his fingers crossed that Hank had started spending time with that hot doctor he admired.
There was, however, no evidence that had happened.
Meanwhile, he’d sent Hank a check in the mail for two grand, which had gone uncashed. Which could mean that Hank didn’t open his mail. Or that he’d opened it, and shredded the check.
Mos
t pressing, Bear was still waiting to hear from OverSight. He’d sent in a detailed proposal and cost estimates, and had been promised an answer within “a few days.” Days had turned to weeks, and Bear had taken to checking his cell phone every half hour during the work day to be sure that he hadn’t missed anything. But all that turned up on his voicemail were pleas from his Colorado friend who wanted him to commit to the Aspen job.
The call he’d been waiting for finally came at about ten o’clock on a Monday night. Bear had just finished showering the sawdust from one of his father’s job sites out of his hair. As he pulled on a pair of jeans, the phone rang.
“Working late?” he asked Christian when he picked up the call.
“Yeah, man. You know how it is in the fall.”
Bear did know. Everyone who worked with the snowsports industry put in overtime to set up for the season. As soon as that crisp, leafy smell hit the air, it was time to book flights, work the kinks out of the equipment and spend a whole lot of time getting into shape.
Now that snowboarding was no longer his life, Bear didn’t know what to do with autumn anymore.
“So, we think your proposal has legs,” Christian said. Bear’s heart skipped a beat. “We want to do it. There’s just one stipulation.”
“What’s that?” Bear asked, while mentally jumping up and down.
“We need Hank Lazarus to sign on with the project before we’ll fund it.”
Crash. His private celebration suffered a hard landing. Bear took a few seconds before answering, because he needed to make himself clear without losing his temper. But it wouldn’t be easy. “I hear you,” he said slowly. “But that’s not the way this works. Hank is going to do this project with me, but he’s doing it on his own time frame. And I will not rush that man. It’s only been a year, Christian.”
There was a silence on the other end of the line then. “I get it. But maybe this project works better next year, then.”
Bear felt like screaming. Another year like this past one would kill him. “I don’t have a year. And there’s no better investment than a film made by me.”